


Belonging

by Venusdoom3



Series: Belonging [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Facility in upstate NY, Business Lunch, Difficult Decisions, Little house in the country, M/M, Non-marriage proposal, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve Come Home, Where is home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9130267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venusdoom3/pseuds/Venusdoom3
Summary: "Hey, Cap – I mean – shit, I don't know what to call you. Rogers. How's that? Let me start over. Hey, Rogers! It's Tony. I'm using the burner phone you sent, which you can obviously tell, because – goddammit, I don't know why I can't just say words right now. Anyway. I'm, uh – you said to call if I ever, uh – if I needed you. And I guess now's as good a time as any."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This may be a one-shot, or it may be a series. Who knows?
> 
> I blame writing these nearly 4,000 words in a day on rewatching Civil War last night.

"Hey, Cap – I mean – shit, I don't know what to call you. Rogers. How's that? Let me start over. Hey, Rogers! It's Tony. I'm using the burner phone you sent, which you can obviously tell, because – goddammit, I don't know why I can't just say words right now. Anyway. I'm, uh – you said to call if I ever, uh – if I needed you. And I guess now's as good a time as any. I do have something to ask of you, but I think it's the kind of thing we should sit down and discuss, and not over the phone. Not over a meeting table, either. How about over lunch? I don't know where your stomping grounds are these days, but we can meet up wherever you want. Wherever and whenever's good for you. I'll come alone; you have my word. Just let me know."

Steve ran his fingers through his short blond hair, a one-sided smile tugging the corner of his lips upward. He didn't want to admit it, but he missed Tony's manic, stream-of-consciousness ramblings. He missed _Tony_ , in fact, no matter how much they used to grate on each other's nerves. He missed the team, he missed the action, and he missed the reward of doing good.

Saving the voicemail, Steve sat at his desk, tapping his front teeth with the cap end of his pen. When he came up with a place, he punched in a quick text message and hit _send_ before he could second-guess it.

_How about Bouley at noon tomorrow?_

 

Two days later, Steve strolled into Tony's favorite restaurant in Manhattan's Greenwich Village district wearing khakis and a white button-down shirt, untucked, under a navy cashmere sweater. He held his head high and his shoulders square, as he always did, but even he knew his stride was looser, more relaxed, than Tony would remember.

Tony was seated at a table in a quiet corner, his white silk shirt open at the neck beneath his impeccable suit jacket. It had been eight months since they last saw each other, but Tony looked just the same, sporting the same sculpted goatee, his dark hair swept back. He looked up as the hostess directed Steve to their table, and a grin that straddled the line between nervous and relieved flitted across his face as he stood to meet Steve with his hand extended. Steve chuckled and shook Tony's hand but, at the same time, pulled him in for a quick hug.

Clearing his throat, Tony gestured to the seat across the table, and Steve took it, shaking his napkin out over his lap. "I ordered porcini flan to start," Tony said, "and told them to keep the wine coming. I hope chardonnay is okay. It pairs well with seafood and mushrooms, and it – well, I know alcohol doesn't affect you, but I remember you knocking back a glass or two of dry white here and there, so—"

"Tony," Steve said with a smile. "It's fine. Thank you."

Tony nodded, blinking rapidly, as he was wont to do when he was uneasy. "Uh. It's good to see you, Ca—uh, Rogers."

"Will you call me Steve already?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Steve." Tony's lips twisted around the name as if it were foreign to him. In a way, Steve supposed it was. "You're looking good, man. Happy."

"I am," Steve said honestly. "How about you? You seem anxious."

"Well." Tony shrugged, one hand fiddling with the cutlery arranged beside his plate as if unaware he was doing it. "I gotta admit, there was a time when I couldn't imagine myself being the one offering to kiss and make up, but here I am."

"Is that what this is?"

"Well," Tony said again, clearly uncomfortable, and Steve leaned back in his chair, waiting. "Okay. Yeah. I'm a big enough man to admit I was wrong."

Steve said nothing. Others, he knew, might not be as tactful, but he could at least offer Tony that respect.

"When I saw that video, I was blinded by my anger. All I saw was Barnes killing my parents. My mother," Tony said, staring with great interest at the empty plate in front of him. "I heard what you were saying about him being brainwashed, but I didn't care. All these years, I thought it was the car accident that killed them. I had no idea they…" He trailed off and then cleared his throat again, making a motion as if to straighten a tie he forgot he wasn't wearing. "Anyway, everything that happened after that was on me, and I apologize." Tony lifted his brown eyes to meet Steve's blue ones. "Steve, I'm sorry. I know I hurt you – both of you."

Steve nodded. It was true; Tony had hurt both Steve and Bucky immeasurably, but Steve couldn't let him take the entire burden. "I'm sorry my pride got in the way of us coming to a compromise, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth about your parents."

"I get it." Tony raised a hand. "I reacted exactly the way you thought I would."

Steve gave a faint smile. "Yeah, you did."

"So, the long and the short of it," Tony said, clapping and then rubbing his hands together before leaving them in a prayer position and pointing at Steve with the tips of his fingers, "is that we want you to come back. _I_ want you to come back," he clarified, meeting Steve's eyes. "We need you, man. The whole fleet has returned to port except you, and we're all a little rudderless. We need a captain. We need _our_ captain."

Furrowing his brow as if pained, Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Tony shook his head.

"Don't worry about that whole wanted criminal thing," he said, as flippant as ever. "I had a sit-down with Secretary Ross and that little peon Everett Ross – okay, a few sit-downs. Anyway, we hashed some things out. The Accords have been nullified; we're only required to report to S.H.I.E.L.D. from now on—"

"—but we brought S.H.I.E.L.D. down."

"True, but the skeleton still existed, so we started fleshing it out. Maria Hill's running the show, and you know damn well she'll approve anything we need, especially if the requests are coming from you. And, of course, all charges against you and all the others have been dropped."

"And Bucky?"

Tony nodded. "Of course. Once I gave them the evidence that Zemo was the terrorist, they cleared Barnes a hundred percent. In fact… okay. I hope this part doesn't piss you off."

"Oh, boy."

"Natasha hooked me up with copies of HYDRA's files on the Winter Soldier," Tony pressed on, pausing to give the waiter a winning smile when he appeared with the crab and black truffle appetizers and filled their wine glasses.

"Are you gentlemen ready to order?"

"Uh, yeah," Tony glanced at the menu sitting, closed, in front of Steve, and at his own in the same state. "Just – bring us the Kobe beef with, uh, the biodynamic artisanal salad. That okay with you?" he asked, and Steve nodded.

"I'm fine with whatever."

When the waiter departed their table, Tony jumped right back into the conversation as if they hadn't been interrupted. "I read every word in those files in one night," he said, leaning forward, his expression as intense as Steve had ever seen it. "I stayed up till dawn. By the time I finished, I was even angrier than I was after watching that video in Siberia. The things they did to him—" Tony stopped, clenching his jaw, his eyes spitting fire. "No human being deserved what they did to him, least of all an American war hero. Those fucking _animals_ tortured him, mutilated him, and turned him into a weapon."

"That's what I tried to tell you," Steve murmured, and Tony closed his eyes for a moment.

"I know. And I couldn't be sorrier. I know you wouldn't have had Barnes on your elite commando squad if he wasn't a hell of a fighter—"

"—and my best friend."

"Right." Tony nodded, one quick jerk of his head. "And those are some of the best reasons I can think of to ask what I'm about to ask."

Steve sipped his wine. "Which is…?"

Sitting up straight, Tony clasped his hands, resting them on the edge of his plate. "I've talked this over with the others, and we're all in agreement, Hill included," he said. "We want Barnes on the team, too."

Steve's jaw dropped. "That… that's the last thing I ever expected you to say, Tony."

"I know. But his place is with us. Both of you belong with the Avengers. Rogers and Barnes, side by side again," Tony said, growing animated, "backed by an even more elite team. I got a taste of what he's capable of, and we could use somebody with his skills on our side. We can give him a home with us."

"He has a home," Steve said quietly.

Tony's eyes grew round. "Good! Does that mean you know where to find him? Will you ask him?"

"I know where to find him." Steve kept his face impassive. "And yes, I'll ask him. But Tony, I want you to hear me."

"Listening." Tony cupped a hand behind his ear.

"I'm serious here. If Bucky doesn't want to be a part of it, I'm not going to push it. This is his decision."

"Of course, of course." Tony spread his hands apart. "After what I read, there is no fucking way I'd ever suggest trying to force it. The man deserves his own free will."

"Yes, he does." It was Steve's turn to lean forward. "And one more thing I want you to understand. If Bucky's out, so am I. It's both of us or neither."

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Tony nodded, pressing his lips together. "Okay. Sure. I understand. Just… ask him, all right? Tell him everything I've told you. Oh, and make sure to tell him I'll replace the arm I, uh, blew off with one a hundred times more advanced. "

"I will."

"That's all I can ask." Tony clapped his hands together again. "Now, let's hit this flan before our lunch gets here. Trust me; you don't want to want miss this."

 

One three-hour lunch and one two-hour return drive later, Steve pulled into his usual spot at the top of the driveway and climbed out of the car, rolling his neck and breathing deeply of air infused with sunshine and chlorophyll. The tiny rental house was on the western side of High Point State Park in northern New Jersey, just east of the Pennsylvania border, and had been secured using a false name and identification. The landlord, a man born only four years after Steve himself, thought his renter's name was Steve Phillips and was just blind enough not to recognize Steve's face.

Steve's boots thudded on the wooden steps leading up to the tiny porch, which boasted just enough room for a swing and exactly nothing else, and he breathed deeply again as he unlocked the front door. The sweet scent of the gardenias planted all around the porch was one of his favorite things about the place, second, certainly, to its privacy. Only forest surrounded the small property on three sides, and the nearest neighbors lived half a mile up the road. Even cell service was spotty, which suited Steve just fine.

Hanging his keys on a hook just inside the mudroom door, Steve kicked off his shoes, lining them up on the rubber mat beneath the key hooks before opening the door leading into the main part of the house. Its open floor plan allowed Steve to survey the majority of the house itself, save for the bedroom and bathroom, which were separated from the rest of the house by cheap, hollow-core interior doors, both of which stood open. The home was spotless, as usual, and impeccably maintained in exchange for a small discount on the rent.

When Steve entered, Bucky turned from the stove, where he was standing in a pair of loose gray sweats and nothing else, and grinned at Steve. "Hey," Bucky said, tapping his wooden spoon on the edge of the steaming pot he had been stirring, and set the spoon down to tighten the stubby ponytail he wore in his dark brown hair.

"Hey, yourself," Steve replied. "What're you making? Smells incredible."

"My ma's Depression potato soup with dumplings." Bucky said, ambling up to Steve and gesturing behind himself at the counter. "Baking powder biscuits are done, and the soup has to simmer for thirty minutes, so…"

Bucky slid his arms – one flesh, one Vibranium courtesy of the Wakandan king and his best engineers – around Steve's shoulders, one hand skating up his neck to cup the back of his head, and Steve smiled as he leaned into the kiss, his hands coming to rest on Bucky's hips. "Mmm. You taste fantastic," Bucky murmured, licking into Steve's mouth, and Steve sighed, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of Bucky's sweatpants.

"Been thinkin' about tasting you all the way home," Steve said, his voice low and rumbling, and the long, dark lashes framing Bucky's steel blue eyes fluttered.

"Did I mention how fuckin' sexy you look in that sweater?" Bucky purred, hooking a finger through the belt loop of Steve's khakis and tugging him toward the bedroom.

"Don't you want to know what Tony had to say?"

"Not till after," Bucky said, dragging Steve through the doorway and skimming his palms over Steve's cashmere-draped chest. "I don't want to think about Stark or anyone else for the next twenty-nine minutes."

Steve laughed. "You've got this timed?"

"We gotta be done before the soup is," Bucky replied with a wide, genuine grin, the one it took months to coax out of him once King T'Challa's scientists and doctors defrosted and deprogrammed him, the same one that used to light up their dingy Brooklyn apartment before the war, and the same one that gave Steve a reason for living, both before the war and now.

"You know I'm never done."

"Oh, I know it, sugar." Bucky stripped Steve's sweater over his head and kissed him deeply while unbuttoning Steve's shirt from the top down. When he spread the shirt open, he released Steve's lips with the sound of wet suction, shoving the shirt back over Steve's shoulders and pinning his arms – or at least giving the illusion of it; they both knew Steve could flex his biceps minutely and shred the shirt – before pushing him until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he sat down hard on the bed.

Eyes shining, Bucky slid to his knees between Steve's thighs, tracing the curves of Steve's well defined pectoral muscles with his fingertips. "God, I love these tits," he breathed, stroking one with his palm as he leaned in and flicked his tongue over the nipple on the other side. Steve's breath hitched, and Bucky turned his eyes upward, smirking as he closed his curved red lips around Steve's nipple and bathed it with his tongue, moaning into Steve's skin.

"Bucky," Steve whimpered, his hips jerking forward, and Bucky took pity on him, sliding the shirt off his arms.

"Get up there." Bucky pointed at the head of the bed, and Steve wasted no time, throwing himself backward onto the pillows and grinning as Bucky tossed his head back and laughed. "You're outta your skull."

"A little," Steve agreed, opening the button on his khakis and working down the zipper; a wave of electric arousal washed over him at the sight of Bucky stepping out of his pants and rifling through the nightstand before climbing onto the bed

"I could look at you all day," Bucky whispered, his eyes crawling over Steve's body, and Steve kicked his pants and boxer briefs off the bed. His prick lay against his belly, thick and flushed, the head smooth and nearly purple when Bucky stroked it lightly, pulling back the foreskin. "Mmm," Bucky sighed, lust painted over his fine features, leaning in to lap wetly at the tip of Steve's cock. "I was thinking about pushing your legs back and fucking you till you screamed, but I think I changed my mind."

Steve had no smart retort to that; when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a weak moan. Bucky bit his lip, crawling over Steve on all fours and reaching for the lube he had dropped a moment before. Breathing hard, Steve watched, transfixed, as Bucky doused his own palm with lube before taking Steve's dick in hand and giving it a few long, slow pulls to spread the slick; he then reached between his own legs and slid two fingers inside himself, his eyes never leaving Steve's. "You want me on top of you, baby?"

"Oh, God," Steve groaned, " _yes_ , please."

"So polite," Bucky teased, kneeling above Steve's hips and holding Steve's prick in place so he could sink slowly onto it. Bucky's mouth formed a glossy red O as his hole stretched to its limit to accommodate Steve's girth, and Steve reached up to wrap his fingers around Bucky's cock, stroking it with slow, even pumps, which, as always, went a long way toward relaxing Bucky enough to take all of Steve, leaving him sitting on Steve's pelvis, both of them gasping for air.

"Fuck, you're perfect." Steve's voice came out low and strained as he swept his gaze over his lover from head to toe. He wasn't exaggerating; even Bucky's flaws were so much a part of him that Steve couldn't imagine him without them. From his silky hair starting to escape its ponytail to the expression of bliss contorting his face to the five o'clock shadow ghosting his razor-sharp jaw line, from his graceful neck to his broad shoulders to the brutal scars where his metal arm fused with his flesh, from his lean, gorgeously sculpted chest to the faint trail of dark hair running down his flat abdomen to his beautiful cock to his thickly muscled thighs, he was a work of art impossible to reproduce no matter how many times Steve tried by graphite or pastel or paint.

Bucky began to move, his hips as graceful as the rest of him, his impossibly tight ring of muscle sliding up and down Steve's rigid dick and causing Steve to release a fervent groan, his hands settling over Bucky's sharp hipbones and helping to set a steady pace. There was nothing on earth like watching Bucky take cock; he gave himself over to it completely, near constant gasps and sighs and whimpers falling from his lips, his eyes rolling and fluttering as he tried with all his might to focus on Steve's face. Staring up at Bucky with undisguised exaltation on his own face, Steve met Bucky's downward thrusts with his own upward ones, soaking in the sound of Bucky's voice growing hoarse as the slapping of their flesh grew more pronounced.

It didn't seem to take long for Bucky to reach the edge, but it may have been a minute or twenty; Steve lost all track of time whenever they tumbled into bed together. All he knew was he was right there with Bucky, trembling on the precipice, and he began stroking Bucky's prick in earnest, steady and fast the way Bucky liked it, their movements growing frenzied and jerky in the final moments of their coupling. Bucky came first, his back arching, impassioned cries escaping him as he shot all over Steve's chest. The heat of it painting his skin and the spectacle of Bucky's orgasm dragged Steve over the edge with him, and Steve spilled deep inside Bucky's pulsating warmth with a low, throaty moan he released against Bucky's sweat-slick throat.

They cleaned up and pulled on sweatpants just in time for the kitchen timer to ring, and, after one more long, wet kiss, they returned to the kitchen to dish up.

"You're going to spoil me," Steve said, and, across the tiny dining table, Bucky cocked his head, inquisitive. "Incredible sex _and_ comfort food? You know I'm already yours for life, right?"

"Shut up," Bucky said with a grin, tossing a biscuit across the table at him. Steve caught it and took a bite. "So, go ahead and tell me what Stark had to say. This oughtta be good."

"You might be surprised." Steve gave the condensed version of Tony's proposal, starting with Tony's apology and ending with his invitation for the two of them to live at the Avengers facility. "He has two apartments set up for us already," Steve said, his lips quirking in a smile, and Bucky raised his eyebrows.

"You didn't tell him we're—" He waved a hand vaguely between the two of them, and Steve laughed.

"Swapping cans? No, I didn't." Steve cackled, wincing as Bucky kicked him under the table. "All I told him is that I know where you are and that I'd pass on the message. I didn't think lunch in Greenwich Village was the time or place to drop a bomb on him like this one."

"Which bomb is that?" Bucky did his best to look innocent, which he rarely pulled off. This time was no exception. "That the virtuous Steve Rogers isn't a virgin, or that he's gay? Or maybe that he's been fucking the guy who killed Tony's parents since before they ever even met?"

Steve grimaced. "Buck. C'mon."

"I'm not playing the self-pity card; don't worry. I'm over that." Bucky set down his spoon and took Steve's hand on the table. "I love that your first instinct is always to protect me. That goes both ways, you know?"

"Of course." Steve squeezed Bucky's fingers.

Bucky was quiet for a moment. "Do we have to give him an answer right away? I don't… I mean, I'm not sure I'm ready to give up our little country paradise here just yet." He smiled a little. "I kinda like having you all to myself."

"I know. I love sharing this place with you, not having anybody to answer to."

"But," Bucky continued, chewing his lip, "I have to admit, the idea of being part of a team again and having the chance to help people for a change does have its appeal."

"I know," Steve said again, his brows drawing together. "I'm not gonna lie. I'm conflicted over it, too. But I told Tony the final decision is yours, and that if you weren't in, neither was I, and I meant it. I'm never going to force any decision on you, Buck." He squeezed Bucky's hand again, and Bucky squeezed back.

"Thank you." Bucky's voice was barely a whisper. "Let's sleep on it."

They didn't, however, have a chance to sleep on it. After dinner, they washed the dishes, went for a long walk, watched a little TV, and went to bed. A long while later, when Bucky collapsed onto Steve's chest and Steve released the grip of his legs on Bucky's waist, they lay that way until they caught their breath.

When Bucky raised his head from Steve's shoulder, Steve already knew what he was going to say, and he was ready to agree as soon as the words were out of Bucky's mouth.

"Let's do it," Bucky murmured, kissing just behind Steve's ear. "But let's not tell Tony about us yet. It'll be worth it to see his reaction when he catches us with our tongues down each other's throats."

Steve grinned into the dimness of their bedroom, anticipation forming a tight ball in the pit of his stomach. "Are you _sure_ you're not evil?"

**

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! I'm also taking prompts on [tumblr](http://venusdoom3.tumblr.com)!


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